


Something's Comin' to Town, Alright

by Toxin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (ps no idea why they capitalized Turkey in the tags I'm talking about the bird shesh chill AO3), A little bit of Turkey hatred though, Banter, But theres no anti religious feeling to it, Christmas, Christmas AU, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Pranks, College Student!Stiles, Cop!Derek, Derek hates Christmas, Evil Caroling, First Kiss, First Meetings, Human everyone, M/M, Police Officer Derek, Prankster Stiles, You Have Been Warned, and offending looking snowmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toxin/pseuds/Toxin
Summary: The sheriff coughs and rubs his eyes. "How bad is it? Please tell me I won’t have to arrest my own son again." Again? Before Derek can answer, Erica cuts in."I’m sure Derek can handle a little singing boss, he’s just dramatic." She grins at him, and Derek narrows his eyes at her in response."Of course." Derek hisses back. "Though to be fair, I’m more worried about the penises he’s been sculpting outside my house.""Oh boy." The sheriff sighs.Or,Stiles loves Christmas. It’s his thing. So when he hears that the new deputy on his dad’s force hates everything related to it, he makes it his personal mission to get the holiday spirit into Derek Hale. Even if he has to stuff it in him like you would a turkey.Derek is not amused.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A quick shout out to the organizer of the 12 Days of Sterek for making this event happen, I swear I live for this kind of thing. You can check out the other amazing creations and the event itself here: http://12daysofsterek.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks to Poison_Ivy18 for being such a great moral support and making me actually sit down and write this!
> 
> Finally, I've written here before but this is my first Sterek fic ever, so I apologize for any mischaracterization. I'll get there some day.

“My son is on break from college and in town for Christmas.” The sheriff states semi-casually, and Derek counts at least three of the deputies around him tense at the news. Baffled, he raises an eyebrow at Boyd, his partner, but gets a silent sigh and headshake for his efforts.

Later, of course, Derek would come to realize that those twelve words marked the beginning of his doom, but at the moment, being the newest deputy on the force with no prior experience in the special brand of trouble that is Stiles Stilinski, he completely misses the fact that he is indeed watching a train wreck in the making.

 “Stiles is in town?” Erica squeals, and that should have been Derek’s second clue. Erica is never excited about anything good. It might as well become the new moto of the Beacon Hills Police Department: wherever officer Reyes goes, trouble is bound to follow. “Why haven’t I seen him yet? Please don’t tell me he’s too good for us now?”

Any authenticity her pout might have had is undermined by the evil glint in her eyes. Sheriff Stilinski, oblivious to Erica’s scheming, or perhaps too used to it, rolls his eyes and laughs at her.

“If you think he’s willingly missing out on torturing me in my own work place and decreasing the level of productivity in this joint by at least fifty percent, you don’t know him well enough. He’s been working with the Beacon’s charity for the last two days, but he’s promised to come by lunch to say hello.” The sheriff grins, and only the older deputies coo.

The rest hang their heads in despair.

Derek’s second eyebrow joins the first, but Boyd isn’t even looking at him anymore, too busy swearing under his breath, and really, that’s what has Derek most confused. He isn’t dense, no matter what his sisters’ say, and can interpret his colleagues’ body languages pretty fucking clearly. Especially since they’re practically broadcasting them on neon signs the size of a building. What he doesn’t get is why everyone is reacting that way about a _boy_ , who apparently spends his free time organizing fundraisers for the least fortunate.

He doesn’t seem like that big of a bad deal to Derek, is all he’s saying.

“That’s the only warning you all are getting.” The sheriff adds, contributing to Derek’s bewilderment some more before dramatically walking back to his office and closing the door on the rising sounds of protests.

“What.” Derek grunts, dazed, and Isaac, who’s been sitting in the desk next to where Derek is standing suddenly swings his chair around and looks up at Derek.

“Oh my god, I forgot you were new!” Isaac eyes spell fear, but his lips are twisted into a manic grin. “This is still horrible,” Isaac sighs, “but getting to see you discover this whole new layer of hell might make this whole thing worth surviving for!” Before Derek can address _that_ , Isaac is already turning around, clearly having said all that needs to be said, and Boyd is next to him, holding the file they’d been looking for.

Derek feels like he should really get to the bottom of the situation for his sanity’s sake, but looking around, everyone has either gotten back to work or fled the scene, and Derek just shakes his head and follows Boyd. Now that it's closed, he has no desire to reopen that particular can of worms, mostly in fear that one of the deputies will start crying.

Still, he can’t help but wonder why that's even a possibility to begin with. With a sigh, he decides that he’s going to find out eventually anyway and goes back to work.

 

He and Boyd are nowhere near done with their case, but when it hits half passed noon and his stomach has growled twice, Boyd takes pity on him and they come back into the lobby to find it almost empty. Derek can hear Erica’s laugh from around the partition leading to the reception though, and goes towards her voice.

“We should probably take the back door.” Boyd whispers, and that's enough to have Derek freeze in place with his hand on his holster, looking around for threats. Not seeing any, he glances back at Boyd’s face, which is, as per usual, unreadable.

“Didn’t you want to ask Reyes if she wanted to grab something too?” Derek asks slowly, unable to stop himself from whispering too, but it still seems too loud for Boyd who winces at the sound and steps closer.

“If you want to do it, be my guest. I’ll be waiting in the cruiser.” And just like that, he’s retreating towards the back of the building.

Derek stays there for a few moments, uncertain about what’s happening. Part of him itches to follow his partner, while the other is just wondering what the hell is wrong with Boyd at the moment. Granted, any other day, Derek is more scared of Erica than he is of Boyd, but today, his behavior is throwing Derek off, and he doesn’t know if he should be giving Boyd some space rather than Reyes for some time. After all, Derek’s about ninety percent sure Boyd has a thing for Erica, so something must be happening with him that Derek doesn’t know about, and that's enough to make Derek weary. 

Ultimately, though, he just rolls his eyes and heads towards the reception. He doesn’t know whether it’s some kind of initiation into the force or something that stupid, but he isn’t going to walk on eggshells at his own workplace, Jesus.

Still, he finds himself walking as quietly as possible so as to not attract attention.

Turning the corner, Derek first notices Brenda, the sixty-year-old veteran that works reception, leaning forward and grinning, shouldered by James, the oldest officer on the force, who has a hand clasped around the shoulder of a handsome young man that Derek has never seen before. Erica’s draped over said man, laughing so hard there are tears in her eyes, and a groan tears Derek’s eyes towards where the sheriff is leaning against the wall, a hand over his eyes.

“I’m serious!” Derek drags his eyes back to where the young man is articulating with his hands wildly, causing Erica to duck every now and then. She doesn’t seem bothered though, judging by her grin. “This is our first Christmas turkey! We have to make it right!”

“No,” The sheriff protests. “Just because we usually eat our turkey on the twenty sixth rather than on Christmas does not make this one our first, and second, in what world does ‘making it right’ involve stuffing it with tofu and kale and _spinach_?”

“It’s good for you! Better than cheese and bread! Plus, I read tha-”

“Deputy Hale!” The sheriff interrupts the man, which Derek realizes is probably his son by the sound of it, and waves him forward with his hand. Derek abruptly remembers the other officer’s reactions to the sheriff’s son earlier, and Boyd scared retreat, and he suddenly gets a bad feeling about this. “Meet my son, Stiles! Stiles, this is the deputy that offered to take over my shift on Christmas, making it possible for us to spend it together.”

Derek grins shyly at the Sheriff before turning towards Stiles. Who, instead of looking happy to meet him, frowns at him.

“Jewish?” Stiles asks, and _what?_ He hears the sheriff hiss Stiles’ name, but the boy ignores him.

“What?” Derek grunts, glaring at the boy.

“Is that why you don’t celebrate Christmas? Because if so, that’s fine, to each their own-”

“I’m not Jewish.” Derek shrugs, not insulted but not understanding why its relevant either way. Stiles steps away from Erica, who’s grinning all too big.

“This is gonna be good.” She whispers, and the sheriff curses.

“Muslim?”

“No-”

“Jehovah’s witness?”

“Look, I fall pretty strongly on the atheist spectrum so no, the holiday isn’t particularly offensive to my religion or whatever. My sisters celebrate it actually.” Derek sighs and looks through the glass doors that lead to the parking lot, catching sight of Boyd and Isaac looking at them from their spot by the cruiser.

“Then why the hell would you ask to work?” Stiles raises his voice, arms shooting up. His coat has already been discarded of, which allows his shirt to rise and expose the same pale skin as his neck and face, though the latter is starting to grow warm and pink. Derek purposely doesn’t look.

Jesus Hale, he thinks, his father is RIGHT there. Who, consequently, is your _boss_.

Get it together.

“Oh, here it comes.” Erica smirks and Derek doesn’t get her at all. She knows why he doesn’t really celebrate it, they’ve talked about it before. What’s so funny about it?

“I think the holiday is overrated and is mostly a waste of money and time.” Derek shrugs.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Oh boy,” The sheriff whispers.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Stiles steps forward until they are practically nose to nose and Derek has nowhere else to look but in his amber eyes. He’s tempted to step back, but he can already feel the wall a few centimeters behind him.

“I said-”

“Oh, I heard you, big guy,” Stiles words slowly, as though Derek is the inept one, and really? The evidence thus far points to the contrary. “Only, since Christmas is a time of joy, of being surrounded with the people you love, of eating amazing food and giving and receiving things that make you happy, and of music and movies that make you warm and fuzzy inside, I think you need to relearn the language.”

Derek can’t help it, he snorts. Stiles’ mouth drops open, and he hears Erica giggle in the background while the sheriff hides his face some more. Brenda and James look at each other before slowly backing away.

“What’s that laugh for?” Stiles asks him, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“What you said sounds great in theory, but not even remotely pleasant in practice.” Derek shrugs, and Stiles squawks.

“What part, the amazing Christmas movies and music? Because that-”

“You mean bad Hallmark movies and people singing off key and without harmony, more so than usual because of the sudden spurt of horrible pseudo choir groups?”

Stiles’ arm suddenly become windmills before he manages to get himself under control and narrows his eyes at Derek, seemingly accepting some unspoken challenge.

“Wow, okay. So what’s about great food then? The turkey? The pies? What’s bad about that?” Stiles asks, lips pursed.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you? Because let’s face it, no one actually likes turkey to begin with, its the chicken’s healthier cousin that we have to stuff for it to taste passible.” The sheriff mumbles a ‘hear hear’ and then coughs to hide it. “So then people eat their weight in pie to get rid of the taste and use the holidays as an excuse for the weight they are not going to lose but that we have to hear about for _months_ after the monstrosity of a holiday is over, as if the whole month of December is not enough.”

At this point, Stiles has gone almost purple in the face, but Derek has made those points so many times that he’s unfazed by it.

“The gifts?” Stiles presses on, grinding his teeth.

“The gift giving tradition is just some consumerist bullshit and I much rather give gifts to my sisters on their birthdays, a meaningful celebration, and year round when I come across something they’d like than fight my way through a mall on the twenty fourth of December for overpriced things they’ll have no use for. Also, no one receives gifts they like on Christmas, they receive things they have to pretend to like, like socks, which were nice when I was a broke college student but that I can afford myself now, thank you very much.”

Derek realizes Stiles hands are clenched, and for a second he thinks he’s about to get punched. When it doesn’t happen, he decides to wrap this up and leave because he really is hungry and his lunch break is ticking down.

 “Anyway, before you mention the spending time with the family part, I’d say it wouldn’t be so bad except for the fact that my sisters are Satan’s progeny and having supper with them once a week is more than enough. And no amount of Christmas light and eggnog can fool me on that front. And since they insist on celebrating Christmas, having to work was the only way I found of being spared. Which is good, because Christmas turns out to be one of the most dangerous nights of the year and cops are surprisingly needed. Who would have thought all that Christmas spirit might make some people irresponsible? Oh, wait.” Derek snorts again and grins an all-teeth smile.

Silence reigns once more.

“That’s… the most I’ve ever heard you speak, son.” The sheriff states. Then, though he clearly tries to hold it in, he starts to laugh uncontrollably.

Stiles looks between the two of them, completely betrayed.

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles,” Erica says between barks of laughter. “That’s just Derek. He’s allergic to fun. All the Christmas festivity probably gives him hives. A real life Grinch.”

“But… it’s Christmas?” Stiles says, like he can’t understand how someone might not like it as much as him.

“And it’s great if you like it. I’m not anti-religious for god’s sake, and I’m not trying to steal Christmas from anyone, _Erica_. But I’m not a party person, I don’t like cinnamon and I still think the risk of a Christmas tree fire outweighs The Aesthetic. No amount of snow changes that.”

“What-Why… Who hurt you Derek?” Stiles sputters, and Erica throws her head back.

“Oh my god, no one _hurt_ me!” He growls, though he can’t help but think that he didn’t despise Christmas quite as much back when his parents were alive. It’s irrelevant anyway. “And why are you angry? I don’t even _know_ you, and it’s allowing you to spend Christmas with you dad. You should be thanking me!”

“For what? Lacking a soul?” Stiles screams, and everyone around them are on the way to the floor with how hard they’re laughing. “You clearly need Christmas more than we do!”

“Urgh, I really, really don’t.” Derek snarls, before catching a glance of the clock on the wall. “Great, now I have half a lunch break left. I just came over to ask if Reyes wanted something to eat.”

It takes several seconds of Stiles glaring at him before Erica manages to catch her breath.

“Bring me back… A burger from… the corner dinner…. Please?” She manages to wheeze out and Derek nods at her before turning to Stiles.

“I’m off. It was nice meeting you.” He turns to leave.

“Um, no. No it wasn’t.” Derek spins around, thoroughly insulted by the boy’s lack of manners, but Stiles just grins at him. “Don’t worry though, I’ll find a way to fix what’s wrong with you so that next time, you and I are on the same page. The _right_ page.”

The sheriff stops laughing while Erica grows visibly more excited.

“Stiles, do not-”

“I’d love to see you try.” Derek interrupts the sheriff, causing Erica to cheer. The sheriff cups his head and mumbles, while Stiles smiles progressively wider. If Derek was in a more amenable mood, he’d admit it looks pretty scary.

“You’re on.” Stiles says.

“Whatever.” Derek answers, already walking out the door.

***

Living as far into the woods as the wildlife preservation efforts would allow has its quirks. There’s privacy, because of the lack of neighbors, which allows Derek not to be involved in too much of the town’s gossip. There’s freedom, also because of the lack of neighbors, which means he can listen to movies as loud and late as he wants, or go out to tend to his garden naked if he so desires. Most importantly, his mornings are forever undisturbed, again because of the lack of neighbors.

Which is why this morning feels particularly shitty.

He wakes up, not because of the chirping of birds outside his window, or a particularly strong gust of wind, or even his alarm clock, as god intended things to work, but because of _singing._ Not any song either, as it may, but a fucking Christmas song that is being completely massacred by whoever is doing the singing.

It takes less than thirty seconds for Derek to decide that he will indeed find out who it is that should have their windpipes torn out instead of waiting it out in bed because, hell, that rendition is about to kill his ears.

Which leads to him opening his door at seven in the morning, on his first day off in a week, in his underwear. When the temperature is far below the freezing point. To a group of small children singing.

Or, well, they _were_ singing until he scarred them for life.

Still, none of that gets Derek to even flinch.

“You get to choose who dies first and who dies last, but I swear to god, all of you are getting it.” He growls, and the whole lot doesn’t require much more prompting before they’re off, screaming into the not yet risen sun. They’re laughing between shouts though, so Derek’s pretty sure the little buggers aren’t all that traumatized.

A shame, really.

He goes to close the door when a note stuck to it catches his attention. He dreads what he’ll find as he opens it.

_Merry Christmas Derek!_

_I had these lovely children come and wish you some Happy Holidays! Since I know you might be too overwhelmed by holiday joy to react adequately to this beautiful gift, I took the liberty to warn these angels about your possible reactions and pay them in advance for a whole week of joy!_

_Happy Holidays!_

_Your Friend Stiles_

The note itself is written in calligraphy on paper that has to cost more than a damn turkey might, but Derek doesn’t care as he crumples the note and throws it somewhere back in his house before shutting the door.

He should have known.

A week. This has to be a joke, Derek thinks rationally. Stiles is probably saying he paid the kids for the week to have Derek flee in retreat, but really, he hasn’t.

Yeah. That has to be it.

A trick, just like hiring kids is, because he knows Derek won’t use his cop liaisons to arrest minors for sound disturbance, no matter how much he wants to. It’s a Christmas Carol after all, and he doesn’t feel like becoming the most hated person in town.

He thinks of what he’d have to do if Stiles isn’t kidding though, and realizes he’d have to ask one of his sisters to crash at hers for a week, which is probably exactly what Stiles wants, the fucker. Derek would be left to choose between Christmas music wake up calls and family time, both of which he knows Stiles is a fervent supporter of.

Derek isn’t going to fall for it, though. Because it’s a trick. And no one is coming to wake him up at seven again any time soon. 

He’d tempted to text the sheriff to let him know what’s happening before he thinks better of it. He’s Derek boss after all, and Derek hasn’t been working there nearly long enough to go whining to him about his son.

He does text Erica though. And, when all he gets in response is a cluttering of laughing emoji’s, he calls his sister.

Just for tonight, he thinks. He’s working early shifts the rest of the week, won’t be there if the kids come, but he’s still off tomorrow and intends to sleep in.

Derek convinces himself its not a retreat.

***

Derek goes home the next day after eating lunch with Laura. It’s uneventful, if you consider Laura talking about how one of her dogs has a habit of peeing on strangers and how she found herself sleeping with one of the losers who got peed on right there in the park uneventful. Derek tries to tell her that as a cop, he probably shouldn’t be told those things, but Laura shrugs him off. She also talks about the side effects of her contraception in a way that necessitates so much gesturing that she manages to knock out one of the waiters, but at least that part happens after she's already got the more conservative, gossipy patrons to run out of the dinner scandalized, so no one calls the cops.

All in all, on the scale of Laura’s public appearances, their lunch outing is still pretty much a success. No one gets set on fire this time around, at the very least, so it's a win in everyone's book. 

That means that Derek gets home happy, full, and unsuspecting, knowing that if Stiles’ minions had come by that day, he’d have for sure missed them by now. He spends the afternoon reading, cooks himself a nice meal, and goes to bed early knowing he’s to work at six the next day.

He wakes up a little passed four, works out, eats breakfast and is, all and all, ready to start his day.

He is, however, not ready for what waits for him outside.

Someone took pleasure in decorating his house some time last night, it seems. And by pleasure, Derek means that the level of enthusiasm it took to decorate all the trees around his property (he lives in the forest, so those aren’t lacking), the house and the yard to make it look like someone had thrown up a Christmas lights fruitcake everywhere is damn near admirable. He can at least recognize that, even if the amount of colors splashed across his home makes his breakfast rise back up his throat a little.

His first thought is, of course, that Stiles is the culprit. The fact that this is damn near the Christmas version of a nuclear attack spells as much. He unfortunately has his doubts confirmed as he takes a closer look at the decorations.

The lights on his house spell ludicrous things such as “Jingle my Bells” and “Cleaning the Chimney”, and as if those didn’t sound dirty enough to be considered intentional, there’s approximately twelve snow men with thin and long torsos that looked undeniably like penises.

Derek very nearly manages not to scream.

Ultimately, that means that he makes it to work nearly forty five minutes late, dripping wet from punching down snowmen after snowmen, with one soar ankle from tripping on some Christmas lights and, generally, in a pissed off mood.

He walks to his desk, sees the sheriff looking over the sheet with the clocked in officers, and drops his bag on his desk loudly enough to get the sheriff to notice that he is indeed arriving late, rather than simply having forgotten to clock in.

He growls and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling and waits, fingers crossed, for a tile to fall on him.

“Are you okay, son?” The sheriff asks, and Derek can’t even find it in himself to answer. He tries to, but he only manages a pitiful whine. “Hey, what is it? You know if there’s an issue, if it’s family or something, you could have-”

“It’s not _my_ family.” Derek’s suddenly struck by how unprofessional he sounds, but he can’t help it. His morning has been a complete and utter joke.

“What do you mean?” The sheriff asks. Derek wants to answer, he does, but he’s afraid of insulting the man, _his boss_. He also realizes that most of the force has gone silent in their unsubtle attempts to eavesdrop on them, and suddenly Derek feels embarrassed about his reaction.

“Because his problem is part of your family, sheriff. Want to guess what member?” Erica answers, saving him the bother. Murmurs travel across the room and the sheriff groans, rubbing his temples with his forefingers.

“Oh, that little brat.” The sheriff swears, suddenly looking exhausted. “I made him promise- but why I thought he’d follow through is beyond me.” He stares at Derek then. “What did he do?”

Derek bites his lip, wondering how stupid and childish he would sound if he answers.

“I know there was at least one caroling incident involved,” Erica chips in, and Derek groans. “A week long, sleepless caroling incident if I'm understanding this right.” She giggles.

“Oh lord.” The sheriff mumbles in his hands.

“Does that mean that the tampering of our cruiser was an attack aimed at Derek?” Boyd speaks up. “Because if so Hale, it’d be nice if that stayed out of the work place.”

“What? What tampering? And how is this my fault?”

“You told Stiles you didn’t like Christmas.” Erica reminds him. A judgemental “ooooo” rings through the lobby.

“I don’t like Christmas! It’s a fact! How is that an issue?”

“Stiles loves Christmas.” Isaac says, like that explains everything. Around him, everyone nods in unison as though that statement is enough to explain the situation at hand. Only, it isn’t. Far from it. And Derek is about to lose it.

“A) I didn’t know who Stiles was and no one warned me, so if it’s anyone’s fault, its yours. And B) Since when are personal opinions on holidays a factor in dealing with _harassment_?” Derek growls, only feeling a little guilty about the word choice.

“They’re not.” The sheriff coughs, rubbing his eyes. “How bad is it? Please tell me I won’t have to arrest my own son again.” _Again_? Before Derek can answer, Erica cuts in.

“I’m sure Derek can handle a little singing boss, he’s just dramatic. You won’t press charges, will you Derek?” She grins at him and he narrows his eyes in response.

“Of course I won’t. Though to be fair, I’m more worried about the _penises_ he’s been sculpting outside my _house_.” He hisses back. Laughter erupts across the room.

“Oh boy.” The sheriff sighs. “I’ll call him now.”

The sheriff locks himself in his office and Derek ignores the gibes from his fellow officers as he heads to the locker room to change into his uniform. The only blessing today has offered is that the sheriff probably won’t penalize him for coming in late, and now, at the very least, Derek’s will get to wear dry clothes. Even if said clothes are the mandatory uniform.

He opens his locker, and blinks, unmoving.

He’s in the same spot when Jordan, one of the officers he likes best, comes in. The man peers at him over the edge of his coffee mug for a minute, as though to confirm that Derek is indeed standing around like a lunatic, and then steps tentatively closer.

“Hale? You okay there, bud?” He asks, but Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens the locker door wider and pulls out his uniform far enough for Jordan to see it. Jordan peers down and, suddenly, he’s spitting coffee everywhere.

“I’ve never been this happy not to be you, man.” Jordan finally chokes out.

“Please tell me you have a spare.” Derek does not beg, but it’s a near thing.

“I honestly don’t,” Jordan says, backing towards the door. “But I’ll be honest with you, even if someone here does, they won’t lend it to you. This is too good.”

“Fuck you, Parrish.” Derek growls, though he knows its true. Jordan laughs and walks out the door, leaving Derek to look down at his uniform.

The edges of the sleeves are decorated with candy cane strips that even without trying Derek knows he’ll need a sewing kit to remove. The pants are covered with ironed on snowflakes, and his shoes have been switched for polar bear slippers. Worst of all, there is glitter _everywhere_.

And by everywhere, Derek truly means everywhere. For instance, he knows that the shirt is suppose to be a light brown, but there’s so much red sparkle that Derek could compete with Jessica Rabbit in a pageant and realistically win. Except for the back, that is, where dark green glitter spells out _I love Christmas_. When Derek turns the shirt over to see, the movement is enough to make a puff of glitter flutter around him.

He considers not wearing it, and putting up a front when the sheriff undeniably questions it, but then remembers the look on the sheriff’s face earlier when he’d mentioned his son and thinks better of it. It’s just a bit of humor, after all, and its not like Derek has all too much dignity to begin with.

He’s also pleased to find out that the slippers are much more comfortable than his work shoe usually are. He counts that as a win.

The sheriff makes Stiles bring his sheriff's own spare uniform to the station when he sees Derek, but conveniently Stiles is super busy until late into the afternoon. In the meantime, all his coworkers manage to take pictures to their jolly hearts’ content, and Derek has time to find out that what Boyd meant earlier was that the siren on their cruiser had been replaced by the Jingle Bells melody and their radio stuck on a loop of Holy Night.

Needless to say, the sheriff puts Boyd and Derek on desk duty for the day. Also needless to say, Derek makes sure to be out of sight this time around when Stiles comes by to deliver the uniform.

He doesn’t miss their banter, nor does he regret not catching a glimpse of Stiles' bright eyes and beauty marks. He doesn’t.

Derek keeps the slippers on, though. Just because they’re comfortable.

***

Derek’s just finished his shift, and he’s contemplating the difference between two packs of bacon when he hears an all to familiar voice singing Holy Night from behind him. For a second he thinks he’s just going crazy because even Danny hasn’t managed to repair the station on their radio and even though it doesn’t hinder their communication and makes it thus operational, Derek’s pretty sure even Boyd is close to committing mass homicide.

When he turns around, however, he's somewhat reassured that he hasn’t lost it completely yet and that Stiles is indeed standing next to him humming that horrible song, looking right at him.

“How are we feeling, Officer?” Stiles asks before glancing down at the turkey that’s a few feet further in the meat section. Derek rolls his eyes and reclines on the refrigerator.

“If your expecting me to say jolly, you’ve got another thing coming.” Stiles looks up at him for a moment before tilting his head upwards to laugh, and Derek eyes stay locked on the pale throat before him.

“Ah, you can’t be serious. With all the effort I’ve put into making you feel the spirit?” Stiles smirks and wiggles his eyebrows, and Derek knows he has to look away.

“The only thing I’ve been feeling is even more disgust for the holiday than I did before, so you can take pride in that accomplishment.” Derek grunts and heaves his basket, prepared to leave with the final word. He freezes however, a few steps away from where he was, as he holds up the turkey that had been snuck into his basket.

“What the hell is that doing in my things?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. Stiles, in response, opens his eyes impossibly wide and bites his lip.

Derek isn’t falling for it one bit.

“I think you put it there, officer.” Stiles says innocently. Derek glares back and throws the turkey at the boy, who fumbles a little before catching it.

“No I didn’t.”

“I think you did.”

“No.” Derek growls more forcefully.

“Yes you-”

“Do you not like where your throat is located? Would you prefer I remove it for you?” Derek knows his grin looks maniacal right then, and he barely registers that he’s threatening the sheriff’s son of all people, but Stiles doesn’t seem deterred. If anything, he himself grins wider.

“Why, pulling out the surgeon talk already? Does that count as doctor roleplay? If so, your kinkier than I thought you were, Officer.” Stiles winks rudely.

 Derek hears a gasp from his right and turns to see Mrs. Prittle, Cora’s old babysitter, looking scandalized at the end of the aisle. Derek blushes, trying to figure out something to say, before he realizes that there is absolutely nothing he can say that won’t make whatever this looks like make its way back to Laura and counts his loses. He mutters a “I’ll get you” under his breath and hurries away, only to hear Stiles laugh freely behind him as he goes.

He doesn’t realize until he’s back home, unpacking his groceries, that Stiles managed to slip the turkey back into his stuff and that like an idiot, he let himself be distracted enough to buy the damn thing.

Derek doesn’t know why he doesn’t throw it out.

***

A week might not seem all that long, but in the great scheme of things, it can be an unbearable amount time. It’s certainly enough for Stiles to tamper with the music system in the Police department, to redecorate Derek’s house twice, send the choir to the station because while Derek would gladly wring their necks, the fact that all his coworkers are there makes it impossible, and to spike Derek’s non alcoholic eggnog (which Jordan had brought in for everyone) just enough for Derek not to realize that it _is_ spiked until the end of his shift when he finds himself crawling closer and closer to getting drunk.

He actually needs Erica to drive him home for that one, which she revels in all the way to his place.

Of course, that leaves his car vulnerable at the station overnight, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see it covered in Christmas lights the next morning, the wire passing over and under the car. It still takes him nearly half an hour to remove it without scratching the paint, though, which is a pain in his ass.

All that to say, it’s two days before Christmas, after an interminable week of Christmas bullshit, and Derek just wants to go home. Unfortunately, he still has an hour of directing traffic because one of the street lights is dead, and Stiles is sitting on the sidewalk closest to him, singing his heart out.

Right now, he’s singing that “Last Christmas” song that’s been playing on the radio like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and it makes it harder for Derek to direct traffic since all the cars slow down to see what’s happening as they come nearer.

“Please Stiles, _stop._ ” Derek begs, because the last three hours have been enough to drive him to his breaking point. Stiles pauses, glancing up and down Derek's frame, before pursing his lips.

“Do you finally admit that you were wrong and Christmas is a wonderful time?” Derek slumps forward.

“If by wonderful time, you mean the perfect moment to cross the highway during rush hour, then-”

“NEXT YEAR, TO SAVE ME FROM TEARS, I’LL GIVE IT TO SOMEONE SPECIAL!” Is Stiles only response. Derek throws the stop sign at him and misses him by an inch, making Stiles squawk.

Just then, a cruiser turns the corner and slows to a stop. Jordan climbs out.

“We got a call about public disturbance and a very distraught officer, so I came to take over the rest of your shift. Sheriff’s says to go home. Both of you.” Jordan tags on the last bit as he looks as Stiles, who sputters.

“Thank god.” Derek nearly cries and walks towards his own cruiser.

“Wait, why me? All I did was sing? How can I be in trouble?” Stiles gets up and stalks towards them, petulant. Suddenly, Derek turns back to him and grins.

“It might just be singing to you, but when you spend three hours serenading someone, I’d count that as sexual harassment.” While being completely, utterly describable as harassment, Stiles’ singing, unlike his decoration skills, has absolutely nothing sexual about it. But still, Stiles imitation of a fish is well worth the lie.

“I was not _serenading_ you!” Stiles finally sputters, and Derek looks over at Jordan, who’s clearly grinning at them.

“Didn’t you say you have official statements of people witnessing Stiles singing to me all afternoon?” Derek asks Jordan, who nods sagely.

“Why yes, I’m sure many people could attest to that.” Jorden states, which makes Stiles gasp in outrage.

“I was singing at him, yes, but I wasn’t – its not the same – I didn’t-”

“Bye Stiles.” Derek laughs at him before walking away. It feels amazing to pull one on him for once.

Now he finally gets to go back to his house, where he lives alone, to spend the rest of the evening and night undisturbed.

You’d think that after a day like today, he’d like the idea more than he does.

 .

He wakes up, for a moment unsure what it was that roused him. He lays there, waiting for something to happen, and when it doesn’t he very nearly falls back asleep.

Just as he does, he hears a crash from downstairs and sits up with a jolt, muscles tense and senses on alert. Glancing around, he realizes he left his service pistol downstairs in a drawer and curses under his breath before quietly sneaking out of bed and going into his wardrobe, hoping to find anything that might be of use.

There, in a corner behind his clothes, he finds his baseball bat from back in his glory days and grins.

Whoever broke into Derek’s house is in for a surprise.

As silently as he can, Derek opens the door to his room and sneaks into the hallway, edging closer and closer to the stairs. From where he stands, he can’t see much, but he can hear distinct muttering and shuffling from somewhere behind the arch that leads into the living room.

Derek has the advantage of knowing his house, and has no problem avoiding the creaky steps as he makes it to the landing and turns to the left. It’s pretty dark, but Derek can still make out the shape of an imposing man in the corner of the room. He looks more fat than muscular, though, and Derek hopes it’ll play to his advantage if push comes to shove.

Derek flips the light switch.

“Beacon Hill’s Police Department. Don’t move.” Derek calls out, but rather than listening to him, the figure yelps and staggers, very nearly falling into Derek’s Christmas tree.

Wait, since when does Derek have a Christmas tree?

Derek reluctantly pulls his eyes away from the collapsed man to look around the room and groans. There are garlands lining the edges of the room, and Christmas wreaths on every wall. The ceiling fan has been lined with Christmas lights, just like the table and chimney have.

There are even winter themed throw pillows that Derek has never seen before covering his couch.

“Stiles?” Derek forces out reluctantly. “Please, _please_ tell me that’s not you.”

The figure is still struggling to get up, and Derek can see, now that he’s looking, that it’s the padding in his clothes that’s giving the guy a hard time. Because the figure, unsurprisingly in hindsight, is dressed in a velvet version of Santa’s costume, and any doubts Derek had up to this point vanish.

“Um, no?” Says Stiles' voice, and Derek drops the bat and cups his temples. “Though if it was, this Stiles would definitely leave a good word to the sheriff about your stealth and house protection skills because holy cow-”

“You realize I almost took your head off? _With a baseball bat?_ ” Derek shouts. Stiles has finally managed to get upright and turns around, beard slightly crooked on his face as he looks at the Derek. Derek easily recognizes Stiles’ eyes as they dart from Derek’s face to the bat that’s laying beside him, then back at him.

“Please don’t tell my dad?” Stiles finally speaks up.

“Don’t tell him what, exactly? That you broke into my house? That I nearly killed his son? Or just the fact that you have an unhealthy obsession with Christmas that makes _no fucking sense_.” Derek paces back and forth, so he doesn’t see Stiles stand up straighter, ready to defend his actions, before completely deflating.

“My mom.” Stiles mumbles.

“What?”

“Dad knows about my obsession, because my mom was the same. She loved Christmas because it was the time of year when everyone thought about each other and celebrated and in the end, just the lights outside her window got her so excited, kind of like a child-” Stiles swallowed hard. Derek knows very little about the sheriff’s ex wife, but he knows it was cognitive, and he can put the pieces together just fine. “Christmas is the time of year when you should be happy, and if you can’t, to try and make everyone else happy around you. What’s so bad in that?”

Derek stares a little.

“I get that, Stiles.” Derek says, his eyes intense. “But not everyone’s happiness is defined by a holiday. Not liking Christmas doesn’t mean that I’m unhappy.”

“Are you, though?” When Derek just stares, Stiles pushes. “Are you actually happy?”

Derek thinks about his empty house, his long gone parents, the things he’s never got around to doing and shrugs. He’s not unhappy, he thinks, and isn’t that what’s important?

“Come on, man!” Stiles is suddenly passionate, shedding his huge red a coat and beard in a flurry. All the while, he’s keeping his eyes on Derek. “There has to be something about this holiday that makes you happy! I saw you smile at least half a dozen times this last week, and Erica tells me that’s a rare thing, so what part was it? The music? The glitter? There’s got to be something I can do!”

Derek rolls his eyes to the ceiling, halfway to telling him to go back home, but he ends up keeping his mouth shut. Part of him, the part that’s being woken up at two in the morning by a kid who's in the midst of vandalizing his home is definitely annoyed enough to send the kid on his way so that Derek himself can go back to sleep. The other half, the part that thinks about how badly Stiles wants to share something he likes with Derek, something that makes him happy, in order to make Derek happy, is having a hard time controlling its heartbeat.

He settles his gaze back on Stiles.

“There might have been something.” Derek shrugs casually. Stiles’ eyes widen and he steps closer.

“What? What is it? What can I do?”

“Look up.” Stiles furrows his eyebrows but glances up. Above them, hanging from one of Stiles’ ridiculous garlands, is a sprout of mistletoe that Stiles no doubt put up. “The fucking Christmas music will never be what makes me smile, just so we’re clear. Never.” Derek shakes his head in disgust.

Stiles doesn’t answer though, and Derek’s starts regretting saying anything at all.

“Maybe I misunderstood,” Derek advances after a whole minute of silence. “I mean, I know you weren’t seriously serenading me, but I thought-”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, still looking at the ceiling. “I’m processing.”

Derek closes his mouth and shuffles, looking around the mess that is his living room.

“I make you happy.” Stiles mumbles eventually. “Of all the great things about the holidays, you go and fall for the one common denominator that has nothing to do with Christmas. Unbelievable.”

“Jesus, Stiles. You know what? I take it back.” Derek grunts.

“No. Nada. You can’t. Because you’re this grumpy, anti-festive deputy who has a stupid five o’clock shadow and massive eyebrows and you’re like, _so hot_ , and I’ve been wanting to have hate sex with you since you opened your stupid mouth to bash on my Christmas and if I’d known all it would take to stuff you full of spirit was to literally stuff you-”

“Oh my god. What are you waiting for, spring? You’re wasting whatever edge your serenade earned you-” Derek can’t help grinning though.

“It wasn’t a serenade!” Stiles shouts.

“Could've fooled me.”

“Whatever, asshole. Kiss me.” Stiles doesn’t give Derek the time to do it though before he’s dragging Derek forward by the sleep shirt and planting his lips on his. It’s a little awkward, in part because Stiles still seems half in shock over the proceedings as he lets his lips drag along Derek’s, but mostly because Derek doesn’t know if he should put his hands on Stiles’ waist or on his ridiculous pants, which are still stuffed so full it stops the men from actually pressing together the way Derek wants to.

It’s still good, though. Very good.

When they finally separate, Stiles keeps a hand in Derek’s hair and presses their foreheads together.

“You know, if I can keep you close enough, maybe I could get the Christmas spirit to sneak in on you by proxy.” Stiles muses. Derek huffs a laugh.

“How, by kissing? It’s true that the worst diseases are usually contagious.” Stiles slaps his shoulder halfheartedly.

“I’ll find a way to fix what’s wrong with you, just wait. Even if I have to kiss it into you.” Stiles challenges, and Derek flashes back to the similar threat Stiles had made about Christmas. He narrows his eyes in return.

“I’d love to see you try.” He parrots himself, which startles a laugh out of Stiles.

“It’s on, big guy.”

***

Full disclosure, Derek might not hate Christmas as much as he claims to anymore, but if it gets Stiles to try an change his mind through smooching and serenades, he’s willing to play the part.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I am THE biggest fan of constructive criticism, because I know I'm not anywhere near perfect and I love to learn, so please, if you have any, SEND IT IN!
> 
> Or, you know. Come and talk to me on tumblr? I like that just as much.
> 
> (http://ghost-of-erica-reyes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
